The Thousand Natural Shocks
by smilingsoprano
Summary: A few short snippets from the difficult lives of King Roald I and his beloved Queen Lianne. Dark, T for adult themes and character suicide.


**Title: **The Thousand Natural Shocks

**Author: **smilingsoprano

**Rating: **T for dark themes and character death (suicide).

**Pairings: **Roald I/Lianne.

**Summary: **A few short snippets from the difficult lives of King Roald I and his beloved Queen Lianne.

**A/N:** Dark, angsty, just a few ideas of what the hardest parts in their marriage must have been. When I think about it, they're probably the most tragic couple in canon, and I'd love to explore them more. Each dividing line starts a totally separate anecdote, often years apart. Enjoy!

* * *

><p>A rough scream rebounded through the stone hallway and the King buried his face in his shaking hands. He swallowed hard, his stomach twisting with fear and guilt. A deep, shuddering breath did nothing to slow his racing heart, and he clenched his jaw.<p>

When a long arm settled around his shoulders, he started. Jerking his head up, he met the muddy brown eyes of Gareth of Naxen.

"How is she?" he whispered.

"Not well," the lanky knight replied. "The healers are hopeful, but she's in a great deal of pain. How are you, Roald?"

Both men flinched as another scream echoed off the walls. "It _hurts_," the ruler muttered. "I can't think, I can't breathe . . . I'm so frightened, Gareth. What if they can't . . . what if she . . ." He broke off, pale blue eyes wild, and stared fixedly at the floor.

"Lianne is strong, Roald. And our healers are skilled. She'll live." Gareth paused, considering his friend and king. "She wants to see you very much. You should be there."

"I know. Mithros, I know. I just . . . needed a moment. I thought I'd go mad locked in that room, watching her . . . I love her so much, Gareth. I can't lose her."

"You won't. Not now."

Another moment of silence passed, mercifully unmarred by the queen's cries. Gareth tightened his arm around Roald's shoulder reassuringly, then stood and reached out a hand. The king took it, pulling himself to his feet. He took another deep breath, steadying himself.

"What will you name the child?"

"If it is a girl, Lianne wants her to be Jessamine."

"And if it is a boy?"

"Jonathan. His name will be Jonathan."

* * *

><p>Lianne looked up as her husband entered. She was deathly pale and too exhausted to do more than raise her head. Sweat shone on her skin and soaked her hair. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't cross her lips.<p>

Roald crossed the space between them swiftly. He knelt beside the bed, taking her hand and pressing it to his lips. Tears stood in his eyes as he gazed at his wife, insensible to the motions of the healers or Gareth, who had picked up the three-year-old Jonathan, sleeping soundly beside the hearth, and carried him outside.

She tried to speak again. "How . . . how is our baby?" she croaked.

A shadow of grief darkened the king's face, and he reached out a trembling hand to smooth her hair. "Are you well?" he asked.

"Much better, now that you are here." She smiled weakly up at him. "But what of the child?"

"Lianne." Roald pressed her hand in his. "The child . . ." He closed his eyes and a few tears spilled down his cheeks. "The child did not survive."

The queen's anguished howl could be heard throughout the palace.

* * *

><p>He had never seen her so fragile. Grief, illness, and miscarriage seemed to pervade their lives, but never had his beautiful wife looked like this. She was a living skeleton, eyes sunken, cheeks hollow, skin sallow and papery and terrifyingly hot. Her shallow, shaking breaths were too far apart; when Roald tried to breathe with her, he found himself gasping and dizzy. He continued to try.<p>

"Your Majesty." Even without looking, he knew it was Duke Baird, grey with exhaustion and worry. "I have nothing more to give her."

"Send in the next apprentice, then," the king replied. His voice was flat and dull.

A pause, heavy with apprehension. "There are no more, your Majesty." Baird's voice cracked on the last syllable. "Every healer in Corus has been drained. We can't fight it any longer."

Roald didn't move, simply closing his eyes. "You may go," he whispered. He listened for the thud of the heavy wooden door closing.

"This is your time, Lianne," he murmured. "We've faced worse than this. You . . . you have been so strong. Stronger than I could ever be. Please, I need that now." He stood slowly, then laid down on the bed beside his wife, enfolding her in his arms. Her eyelids fluttered and he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Jonathan is outside. Poor boy, I don't think he has stopped pacing since you fell ill. You raised him well. He'll be a good king, once he grows up a bit." He stopped, biting his lip as tears tried to force their way to the surface. "When you recover, we should tell him that. I'm not certain he hears it enough."

There was no response. "Lianne, please," Roald rasped. "I can't lose you. It's been so close, and I've been so frightened, but we've always won. Please, I need you to win again. I love you. I love you so much. I can't . . . I can't do this without you. Love, _please_. Come back to me. Lianne. _Lianne_." He clutched her burning body, keeping time with her breaths. In and out, still too far apart, but manageable. In and out. In . . . and out. In . . . and . . . out. His vision began to swim, and when he breathed in again, he did it alone.

* * *

><p>He hadn't planned to find the ravine. But the hunting party had been too loud, too bright, with too many friendly faces. They wanted him to enjoy himself, to shake off some of the dark clouds that gathered about him. He couldn't do that. Not yet.<p>

Maybe not ever.

And so he had lost them, wandering aimlessly through the wilder lands around Corus. When the ravine opened up before him, he had reined back, dangerously close to the edge.

It was too wide to jump. He knew that.

His horse snorted and pranced, unnerved by the sharp drop so close to its hooves. He patted its neck, making shushing noises under his breath, still staring at the empty space. It didn't frighten him as it should have. He had always been a bold rider, but he knew when a jump was too much for him.

Now, though, he had lost Lianne, and nothing seemed to frighten him anymore. He stared dully at the crevice and its treacherous rocks, imagined the sharp cracks of his bones breaking against them, the searing pain that would surely follow. It seemed like nothing, the barest bruise against the terrible ache that had taken up residence in his chest.

Lianne was gone.

He jumped.


End file.
